


Tinted Whiskey

by luluren



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Philadelphia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluren/pseuds/luluren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He meets Lewis Nixon in a bar one night in November.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He meets Lewis Nixon in a bar one night in November. 

It snowed for the first time that afternoon, still snowing now – Gene can see the flakes falling outside the window. 

Philly has been his home for a year now but he still isn’t used to the cold. Some nights, shivering under three blankets because the price of oil is too high to keep his apartment toasty, he longs for the close, wet heat of Louisiana. His mother knows not to mention the weather when he calls. 

Lewis Nixon is sitting a few seats over at the bar, a freckled red head sitting next to him. They’re both in suits, Nixon’s black and the other’s dark blue, ties loose and jackets hanging along the back of their chairs. 

The only reason he knows the dark haired man’s name is because the other guy said it a few minutes ago. 

And the only reason he’s even noticed the two men is because Lewis Nixon keeps glancing his way. 

He can’t think of a good reason for it, and he keeps his gaze on his phone as he sips at his beer. His phone’s in his hand, and he’s staring at an email he got earlier. 

_Sorry, Gene, this long distance thing just isn’t working…_

_I know I said it’d only be a few months but I just can’t leave Baton Rouge…_

_I’m sorry…_

They’d met in college, had an on again/off again thing for a few years, but they’d always come back to each other. But this time’s different. 

He’s pretty sure she’s gone.

The sad part is he knew it was coming, but it still hurts. 

Gene doesn’t notice the red haired man get up to use the restroom and still isn’t paying attention when Lewis Nixon slides into the chair beside him. 

“Hey.”

He jumps at the voice, startled. “Um… hey,” he says, meeting the man’s eyes. 

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” he says, smiling.

“First time.” Gene’s not sure if he should be wary of the guy – he seems normal enough. 

“I’m Lewis Nixon,” he says, holding a hand out.

“Eugene Roe. Nice to meet you.”

They’re interrupted by the red head, who grabs his glass and sits down next to Nixon. He smiles over at Gene. “If my friend’s annoying you, I’m sorry. Not much I can do about it though. Dick Winters, by the way.”

“Gene Roe. And no, I think we’re good.” He laughs, and takes a long drink of his beer, kind of thankful he’s being distracted. 

“So, what brings you to Philadelphia?” Nixon asks, sipping at his drink. 

“I live here, actually.”

“Really? With that accent I didn’t realize.” There’s a half beat of silence before he continues. “I’m from Jersey. Dick lived in some pobunk town in the middle of the state before moving out here.”

“It’s actually grown a lot since you’ve seen it, Lew,” Winters says. He leans around Nixon. “I’m from Lancaster.”

Gene smiles and nods, though he’s got no clue where that is. “I’m from Louisiana. Little town you’ve never heard of.”

The bartender stops in front of them, eyeing their drinks. “Ready for another round?” he asks. 

“Sure. And his is on me,” Nixon says, nodding at Gene, who opens his mouth to protest but the bartender ignores him in favor of asking Winters if he wants more water. 

“No thanks,” Winters replies. “I’ve got to go actually.”

“What? We just got here,” Nixon says, leaning back in his chair. “C’mon, live a little, Dick.”

“You live enough for the both of us,” Winters says, glancing at Nixon with an exasperated look before turning his attention to Gene. “Nice to meet you, Gene. And don’t be afraid to tell him to back off.”

It’s a weird comment to make, but Gene brushes it off. “Thanks. And nice to meet you too.”

Winters claps Nixon’s shoulder before tugging his jacket on and leaving the two men alone in what feels, to Gene at least, like an awkward silence. 

The bartender returns with their drinks and Gene turns to Nixon just as the man lights a cigarette. “Um, thanks for the beer.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nixon says, knocking back half his whiskey in one mouthful. “So, what line of work are you in Gene Roe from Louisiana?”

“I work for a construction company. We won a bid on a skyscraper a few blocks from here.”

“Ah. Interesting line of work, then?”

“It can be. What about you?” Gene asks.

Nixon takes a drag of his cigarette and chuckles. “I work for my father’s company. Nixon Nitration Works.”

“So… what exactly is that?” 

“I’d tell you but it’d put you to sleep. Suffice it to say it’s nothing exciting.” 

Gene laughs. “Alright then.”

He really had no intention of staying too long at the bar – he’s got to work in the morning – but time doesn’t seem to have a meaning after meeting Nixon. The man’s great company. He’s smart, funny – charismatic. It’s hard not to get drawn in.

Gene finally glances at his watch, alarmed that it takes as long as it does to focus and then alarmed at how late it is. “Shit. I didn’t realize what time it is.”

“Got a hot date?” Nixon asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Hot date with my bed.” Gene calls for his tab, surprised at how cheap it is considering how much he’s had to drink but at this moment, who the hell cares. Nixon shrugs into his jacket after leaving a fifty on the bar, and walks outside with him. 

They stand on the sidewalk and Nixon faces Gene, his eyes a little glassy. “Been a fun night.”

“Yeah, it has,” Gene agrees, being completely sincere. “Thanks. For introducing yourself.”

It’s still snowing, the flakes laying on Nixon’s hair and shoulders, and it must be doing the same to Gene because Nixon takes a step forward, hand raised. Gene smiles, waits for Nixon to brush the snow off and doesn’t even care that it seems kind of weird. But then Nixon does something even stranger. 

He pulls Gene in and kisses him. 

It’s like a timer goes off and his mind’s blank. 

It’s just a pair of lips, he thinks. Warm and whiskey tinted and – 

Nixon brings a hand up to cup Gene’s cheek and it’s when that cold palm touches him that he finally regains any sense he might have and pushes Nixon away gently. 

“Lew, man, I –” _what the hell is he supposed to say here?_ – “I don’t … swing for that team. I – I’m sorry…”

A flash of embarrassment crosses Nixon’s face before he steps back and laughs softly. “Jesus. Too much whiskey, y’know?” He ducks his head for a moment. “Sorry, Gene.”

“It – it’s ok.” Gene slides his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to turn and run away. 

“Well,” Nixon says, staring up at the sky before turning to Gene, “good luck in your construction. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Gene nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Nixon flashes him one last smile before turning away. He pulls his collar up over his ears as he leaves, the snow swallowing him up. 

Gene turns in the opposite direction, head down, and laughs – he’s just been kissed. By a guy. And he’s laughing about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A few weeks later he’s in a hotel ballroom, dressed in a rented tuxedo and drinking what’s probably his fifth glass of wine. 

It’s a charity event for the city, and Gene’s boss couldn’t come. So here he is, feeling awkward as all hell standing in a corner of the room and watching people make small talk. 

Not really his idea of a fun evening.

Knocking back the last of his wine, he steps forward, eyes scanning the crowd for a waiter, and that’s when Lewis Nixon steps in front of him. 

“Gene Roe from Louisiana,” Nixon says, surprise on his face to find Gene here. 

“Lew, hey.” He doesn’t want to think it but he can’t help it – that man kissed him. Nor does he really want to look at those lips but it happens anyway.

“Didn’t know you came to these things too,” Nixon remarks, tipping his wine glass back until the liquid’s gone. 

“I usually don’t,” Gene says, shifting on his feet. 

Nixon moves so they’re standing side-by-side and he chuckles. “These are the worst,” he says, “and I know because I’ve been to more than I can count.”

“Perks of being a rich guy?” Gene teases. 

“Ha. Jealous?”

“Nah. Give me a picnic in someone’s backyard any day – I’m happy.” 

They chuckle and the awkward moment slips away. “How long do these things last?” Gene asks.

“You never stay till the end,” Nixon advises. “C’mon, let’s get a refill.”

Nixon manages to wheedle 2 glasses of whiskey from the bar serving only wine with just a few smiles and what looked like a fifty-dollar bill. “Follow me. We’re making a break for it.”

Gene watches, somewhat in awe, as Nixon carves a path through the ballroom, raising his glass to a few people, patting others on the back and introducing Gene while never stopping. 

It’s impressive. 

Within minutes they’re out on the balcony, their breaths clouding in front of them. 

“The trick is to not stop. For anything,” Nixon explains, ignoring the “No Smoking” signs posted on the walls and lighting a cigarette. “Just keep walking. You stop for a second and you’re done. They’re like zombies.”

“You really have been to a lot of these.”

“It was worse when my ex-wife was around,” Nixon muses. 

“Wife?”

Nixon looks sheepish. “I was married for a year or two.”

“But –” Gene splutters, thinking how Nixon kissed him that night at the bar. “You… I thought you, I mean –”

“One can swing both ways,” Nixon says, avoiding Gene’s eyes. “I’d say I prefer the male persuasion but when your father’s forcing you to get married because god forbid you don’t make an heir, well, what are you going to do?”

For one of the first times since meeting Nixon, and he’s counting the night of the unfortunate misunderstanding, Gene feels bad for the guy. He’s rich, suave, good looking – and under the thumb of his father. 

“Did you make an heir?” Gene asks, curious. 

The smile Nixon throws Gene is sincere. “A boy. Jack. He’s this cute, little thing I don’t know what to do with. Cathy has him most of the time. Which is probably a good thing.”

Gene doesn’t know what to say. 

“But y’know, that’s how it goes,” Nixon says, smiling. “How about you?”

He swallows back the rest of his whiskey. “I had a girl. She broke up with me that night at the bar, by email.”

“Harsh,” Nixon says. “Were you dating long?”

“Five years.”

Nixon whistles. “Sorry, Gene.”

“Thanks.” Gene smiles. “It’s how it goes, huh?”

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon walks Gene to his car later, both bundled up in coats and scarves against the wind. 

“You’ve got a knack for making shitty evenings a lot better,” Gene says. “Thanks.”

Playfully, Nixon nudges Gene’s arm with his shoulder. “Anytime, my friend. Glad I ran into you again.” He pauses, as if steeling himself to speak. “Maybe it’ll turn into a habit. Who knows.”

“Yeah,” Gene says, thinking of what happened at that bar and not really caring about it at the moment, “who knows?”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s nearing midnight on Thanksgiving.

His belly is stuffed and senses dulled from too much whiskey. Nixon’s slumped down on the sofa beside him, and they’re leaning into each other, holding one another up. 

If Gene hadn’t gone to the bar the other night, if Nixon hadn’t been there and if he hadn’t invited Gene over for a special take-out-and-whiskey Thanksgiving… It’s a lot of ifs.

He lets his eyes wander around the room, taking in the dark wood of the floor and ceiling, the heaviness of the walls. It’s an oppressive, yet beautiful house.

He wonders if Nixon feels suffocated by it all, because Gene thinks he would if he lived here.

Nixon breathes deeply. “I’m glad we did this, Gene,” he says, his words starting to slur. “Imagine if we hadn’t – we’d be two sad souls sitting home alone.”

Gene laughs softly and crosses his legs. “Thanks for inviting me Lew.”

“Anytime. Seriously.” Nixon’s hand drifts over to lay on Gene’s knee – he does it like it’s nothing and Gene tries to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach. “I like hanging out with you. You’re an interesting guy.”

“I like it too.” The hand on his knee squeezes lightly and it makes him lightheaded. “Lew –”

“Remember that charity event I mentioned? The one near Christmas?” Nixon interrupts. “It’s the second Sunday in December.”

Gene knocks back the rest of his whiskey, wondering where Nixon’s going with this. “Ok.”

The hand squeezes again. “It’s me and a plus one. You should be my plus one.”

Drunk as he may be, this conversation is taking a turn Gene doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Um, I –”

“C’mon. You saved me from a slow death at the last one.” Nixon’s shaking his leg gently, and looking at him with a goofy smirk and the resolve Gene felt a second ago starts to crack.

“Lew, I don’t fit in at those things,” Gene says, Nixon’s hand slipping off his knee as he gets up to refill his drink.

“Yes you do. Besides, everyone loves that accent of yours.”

Gene rolls his eyes as he makes his way back to the couch. “Sure.”

“So… I’ll just send that RSVP back tomorrow then?”

“Lew, I … can’t Dick go with you?” he asks in a last ditch effort.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Nixon grins, and when Gene sits back against the sofa, his hand finds it’s way to his knee again. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Gene grunts and pushes against Nixon. “You owe me. A lot.”

Looking back, if he hadn’t been more than a little drunk, he’d have probably been able to get out of it, because he definitely doesn’t want to go, right?

Nixon grins smugly for the rest of the night.

“Let’s go smoke,” he says, clapping Gene’s knee.

Gene points out the fact he doesn’t smoke, but follows Nixon to the back porch anyway.

Nixon lights a cigarette as soon as they step out into the screened-in porch. Gene stands at the window, looking out at a garden that’s probably quite beautiful in the spring and summer. Now it just looks like a bunch of gnarled limbs and bare bushes.

“You’ll have to see it in the summer,” Nixon says, stepping up beside Gene.

“I was just thinking how nice it probably looks.” He eyes the glow of Nixon’s cigarette. “Can I have one?”

Nixon smirks. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“I don’t. Or haven’t since college.”

Nixon hands him a cigarette and his zippo and steps closer, cupping his hands around Gene's to shield the flame from the nonexistent wind. His hands are warm with just a hint of the cold that’s permeated throughout the porch, and Gene stares across the few inches that separate them.

He looks like a movie star, Gene decides.

The first drag makes him cough. Pulling that familiar taste of smoke into his lungs brings back memories of college and parties and make-out sessions and he feels like this memory is going to be added to it - the cold, and the warm hands, and a good-looking man staring at him in the darkness.

He's never really thought about a man being good looking before, and chalks it up to too much whiskey. 

Is he having a personal crisis? Because it kind of feels like it. 

"Gene? You ok?"

He looks up at Nixon wearing a concerned look and Gene shakes his head. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

He hasn't had enough alcohol yet to confess. "Stuff, I guess."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nope."

Nixon leans in, his lips close to Gene's ear. "I think you're lying to me, Eugene."

"Maybe." He grins over at Nixon. "And what are you going to do about it?"

He realizes what this entire relationship is - it's a goddamn dance. They're dancing around one another, Nixon doing a slow, sensuous dance and Gene's not sure if he wants to dance at all. Or maybe he's just feeling lonely since his girlfriend called it quits and having Nixon here, who's certainly interested but holding back, is just an ego booster for him. He doesn't fucking know. 

"I'll just give you more alcohol," Nixon says in response to Gene's question. "Everyone talks when they're drunk."

Part of him wants to swear off drinking for the rest of his life, but another part wants to drink everything in sight because dammit - he's just confused. But then Nixon wraps his arm around Gene's shoulders and pulls him in for a second. 

"Let's take shots," he whispers. 

"Christ, Lew," Gene says, pulling away from that warm arm and stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray. 

\---------------------------------------------------

It’s close to two in the morning – the fire died down an hour ago and somehow (Gene blames gravity), his head lands on Nixon’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he whispers, musing that Nixon won because he's drunk enough to say anything at this point. “I’m not gay, but…”

Nixon's shoulder tenses underneath Gene’s head before he laughs. “You’re drunk, Gene.”

“Maybe.” He yawns, the world going out of focus. “But I dunno. Jus’ somethin’ about you, Lew.”

He falls asleep and doesn’t feel the shaky exhale Nixon let’s out.

\---------------------------------------------------

He wakes the next morning, unsure where he is or who's lying beside him. It takes a second to remember last night - falling asleep on Nixon's shoulder - but it slowly comes back as he looks around. He's squished between the back of the sofa and the warm body he's currently spooning. There's a thick blanket over top both of them and wearily Gene presses his forehead against the back of Nixon's neck, wondering what the fuck is going on. 

The sudden urge to relieve his protesting bladder hits and now he's got to somehow maneuver his way off the couch without waking Nixon. It seems an impossible task but unless he wants to piss himself he's going to figure out a way. 

He's got one leg over Nixon, toes searching for the floor. Once he finds it he begins to haul himself over the sleeping man. It's when he's at the point where he's literally straddling him that Lew's eyes flutter open and he grins. 

"Hey there," Lew says sleepily. "Nice way to wake up."

Gene blushes like there's no tomorrow. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Sure, sure."

He's washing his hands at the sink when Nixon stumbles in, leaning against the doorway and looking thoroughly disheveled. 

"You hungry?" he asks. 

Gene turns and leans back against the sink. "I can always eat."

"There's a diner a few blocks away," Nixon says. "That ok?"

"How about we stay here and I make breakfast?" Gene suggests. 

"You can cook?"

"Don't look so surprised, Lew."

Nixon's kitchen is massive. Two ovens built into the wall, an island with the stove top built in on top and counter space for days. Gene's a little jealous. His kitchen at his apartment is maybe a fifth of the size of this one. 

Nixon sits at the table and sips at his coffee while Gene scrambles eggs. 

"You're pretty handy in the kitchen," Nixon observes, smirking.

"You could always come help," Gene replies, smiling over his shoulder as he turns the bacon and tries not to get bitten by the hot grease. 

"Looks like you're doing a fine job yourself. I should keep you around."

Gene rolls his eyes and wonders why he’s blushing again. 

"So, did I really agree to go to that charity thing with you?" Gene asks a few minutes later as they sit down to eat. 

Nixon grins. "You did. And you can't take it back."

They smile at one another across the table and Gene's struck again by how easy it is to be around Nixon. His stomach does that stupid flutter thing and he’s got to use a lot of restraint to not press his foot to Nixon’s under the table.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning of the charity gala, Gene’s phone dings while he’s lying in bed. It’s Nixon.

_Hey Gene. Pick you up at seven?_

_I think I’m sick_ , Gene types, grinning. _You should probably just go without me._

_Suck it up, buttercup. I’ll see you later._

A rush of affection consumes him, and he throws his phone back on the side table. Running his hands through his hair, he turns over onto his back and slides his hand under the covers. 

He’s pointedly not thinking of Nixon, instead picturing his ex and how she used to saunter up to him in bed, wearing one of his old t-shirts. It used to turn him on like crazy. He thinks of her face and how she’d bite her lower lip and as he loses himself in the memory, the face in front of his eyes transforms into a man with heavy, dark eyebrows and a smirk that goes for miles.

He releases with a low breath and lays shaking in his bed, his hand covering his eyes. 

This might actually be a crisis.

\---------------------------------------------------

He waits until the last minute to shower and change into another awful tuxedo and shiny shoes. The doorbell rings as he’s running a comb through his wet hair, and giving himself one last check, he exits the bathroom. 

Gene opens the door and sucks in a breath, heart hammering – Nixon looks _good._

“Y’know,” Nixon says, smirking, “I half expected to find you not dressed and refusing to go.”

Swallowing back the lump of fondness that’s risen quite suddenly in his throat, Gene laughs. “I uh, I definitely thought about it.”

It’s Nixon’s first time in Gene’s apartment, and he flicks his gaze across the room, taking in the sturdy brown couch and the television sitting on top of Gene’s brother’s old stereo system. Taking a chance, Gene studies him, hair combed back and to the side, the way his tuxedo just kind of hugs his body. 

“Here,” Nixon says, turning around just as Gene brings his gaze back to his face. He’s holding out a box, looking sheepish. 

“What is it?” Gene asks, staring at it. 

“Just open it.”

Gene opens the box and laughs. “Why do I feel like I’m going to the prom?” 

Nixon doesn’t say anything, but he plucks the boutonniere out of the box and pins it inside Gene’s front pocket. “There,” he says, his eyes not meeting Gene’s. “The ladies will love you.”

“Want a drink before we go?” he asks, taking a few careful steps away. Nixon follows him into the kitchen and leans against the counter while Gene pours two generous glasses of whiskey.

“So what charity are we celebrating tonight?” Gene asks.

“No idea. But I am sure it’s important.” Nixon taps his glass against Gene’s. “Cheers, man.”

They tip their glasses back, and as soon as they’re empty, Gene fills them again.

“Nervous?” Nixon asks, eyeing Gene with a measured look.

“A little,” he answers truthfully.

Nixon sips at his drink, fingers tapping against the counter. “It’s the flower, isn’t it? Gene –”

“Nix, no,” Gene says, feeling maybe a little guilty about lying but he doesn’t want to upset Nixon. “It’s just … I really hate these things. And this tux, I mean… I look awful.”

“Are you shitting me?” Nixon says, his face brightening. “You look amazing. The women, they’re just going to be all over you. Have to fight them off with a stick.”

Gene laughs. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Nixon’s eyes darken and he laughs, though it’s a laugh Gene hasn’t heard since the night they kissed. He doesn’t know what to say. In truth though – he wants to tell Lew he’s confused and that he may or may not have jacked off thinking about him this morning and what the fuck does that even mean? 

“We should go,” Nixon says, breaking the awkward moment. “Taxi’s waiting outside.”

\---------------------------------------------------

“This place is massive,” Gene says, as the taxi makes its way up the driveway towards a mansion reminiscent of the old plantations back home. 

“The bigger the better,” Nixon says, handing the cab driver money as they slide out of the back seat. “More places to hide.”

“I don’t get it. If you hate these things so much why do you go?” Gene asks. He follows Nixon up the front walk. 

Nixon throws a smirk over his shoulder. “Duty calls. Now, my good man,” he says, taking hold of Gene’s elbow as the front door swings open, “let’s find the bar.”

Turns out the bar is pretty easy to find. 

“Two whiskey’s,” Nixon says, smiling at the bartender before leaning in towards Gene. “We’ll go exploring later. I think this place has a swimming pool.”

Gene tugs at his bowtie. “We can’t go swimming.”

“Who says we can’t?” 

Lew’s name is said from the other side of the bar and he winks at Gene before waving back. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Gene hangs back as Nixon approaches an older man who claps his back before asking how his father is. Watching Lew gives him a weird feeling in his stomach he isn’t ready to deal with yet, so he turns his attention towards the crowd milling around in the middle of the room. 

It’s a whole other world, he realizes, watching as people talk and laugh and hold their wine glasses a loft. He spots a few teenagers looking extremely bored, fingers itching to get their phones out and start playing. It’s hard to imagine growing up in this type of environment.

But Nixon plays it well.

“…my friend, Eugene Roe. He’s from Louisiana.” Nixon grabs Gene and pulls him closer, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Gene, this is my father’s associate, Howard Martin.”

And this is how it goes for an hour or so – a shitload of names thrown at him in a complete whirlwind. If anyone walks up to him afterwards he’ll have no idea who they are.

Nixon keeps a fresh whiskey in Gene’s hand the entire time, and when they slip outside, Gene leans against the railing, looking at Nixon in a new light.

“Jesus, Lew, that was horrible,” he says, holding his hand out for a cigarette. “I mean, how the hell do you put up with that? And … their names? I’ll never be able to remember any of them.”

Nixon laughs. “Practice. And I’ve known a lot of these people my entire life. Keep hanging out with me and you’ll be a pro.”

They stand at the top of a set of stairs that lead down into a garden and smoke in silence, Gene ruminating on how different Nixon’s life is from his. How trapped he must feel sometimes.

Later, he blames it on the whiskey. But right now he’s not thinking of passing blame on to something else.

Gene steps closer, whiskey in one hand and lit cigarette in another, and presses his lips to Nixon’s.

They both freeze, but then Nixon groans low in his throat and there’s the sound of breaking glass before he puts his hand on Gene’s face and pulls him in. The kiss grows heated and Gene wants to drop his whiskey glass too but it’s caught up to him what he’s done and he can’t move.

Nixon pulls at Gene’s hair, just enough to make him moan, a sound that Nixon swallows and it makes Gene’s head spin. 

“Lew –”

Nixon pulls back just enough so that they’re still close but no longer kissing – there’s a red tint to his cheeks, he’s breathing heavily, and Gene’s stomach shifts. 

“Is this a joke?” Nixon asks, being completely and totally serious for one of the first times since Gene’s known him.

“I – I don’t… no,” Gene stutters, his gaze moving from the man’s eyes to his lips. “I might be a little drunk but –”

This time Nixon takes a step back, eyeing Gene carefully as he smokes his cigarette. Feeling awkward, Gene sucks at his cigarette too, wondering what can of worms he’s just opened. 

“Do you want to leave?” Nixon asks suddenly, his gaze boring into Gene’s. 

He thinks about going back to his apartment, or even going to Nixon’s house, and what might happen once they get there. The thought leaves a hundred butterflies swirling like mad in his stomach and he drops his cigarette to the ground. Nixon’s staring at him carefully, waiting for him to bolt or say it really was all a joke, and even if it had been, which it wasn’t – he can’t say no. 

“Ok.”


	5. Chapter 5

The taxi pulls up to the front of the house, and Lew gestures for Gene to get in. He slides across the seat, heart beating at a speed that can’t be healthy, and Lew gets in beside him, giving the driver his address.

They sit in silence as the taxi makes it way down the long driveway and onto the road. Gene stares out the window, wishing he had something to drink.

He might be freaking out just a little bit.

But then Lew slides closer and puts his hand on Gene’s thigh.

“You ok?” he asks.

“I think so,” Gene replies, his voice just above a whisper. “Nervous.”

Lew’s hand tightens on his leg and he leans in, his lips touching Gene’s cheek as he speaks. “Is it my fault?”

Gene laughs. “Yes.”

“Gene,” Lew says softly, using his fingers to tilt Gene’s head towards him, “you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.” And he presses his lips to Gene’s in a kiss that seems to grow and grow in intensity until Gene forgets they’re in a taxi, forgets where he even is until Lew pulls back, grinning. “Still nervous?”

“Even more.”

They sit in silence and Lew takes full advantage of the situation – he can't seem to stop touching Gene. He keeps his hand on his thigh, rubbing or tapping his fingers, and every few minutes he leans over to press his lips to any skin he can find.

It’s driving Gene crazy. The car ride feels like it’s taking forever and when Lew leans in for the hundredth time, Gene presses his forehead to his and pulls in a shaky breath.

“You’re killing me, Lew,” he whispers, hoping the cab driver can’t hear him.

Lew laughs. “You’ve been killing me since the first time I met you.”

“Lew,” he whispers, “I don’t think I’m gay. But –” he hurries to explain because Lew’s tensed up beside him “– I don’t know. Can I just be attracted to you and not any other guys?”

“I’d prefer that actually. You can be Lew-sexual all you want.”

“Lew-sexual?” Gene laughs, the tension slowly leaving his body.

“C’mon, man, it makes sense. You like ladies, but you like me too. I’m assuming anyway.”

Gene swallows, wondering if he can get the words out without stuttering. “For some very strange reason, I do.”

Lew’s got this look on his face like he’s going to jump into Gene’s lap right here in the taxi – the look makes his already dark eyes darker and Gene’s mouth goes dry. 

How the fuck did he ever find this guy? 

\---------------------------------------------------

The taxi stops in front of Lew's house and Gene pulls in a deep breath. He feels shaky, and stumbles as he exits the car. Lew grabs hold of his elbow.

"You ok?"

He doesn't answer, instead leans into Lew for a second before they make their way into the house.

It's dark, shadows everywhere, and Gene stands awkwardly in the middle of the hallway while Lew shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket and lays it on a bench just inside the door. He flips a lamp on, the shadows growing longer and darker. 

He's got this careful look on his face, like he doesn’t want to scare Gene away, and Gene has to swallow back the lump that's risen in his throat. Lew puts his hands on Gene's shoulders, his face half in shadow, and smiles this beautiful smile that tugs at every nerve in Gene's body. 

"Lew," he whispers, taking a step closer. 

Lew trails his fingers down Gene's chest and starts pulling at the buttons on his jacket. Then, slowly, slowly, slowly, he slides his hands underneath the jacket and up towards Gene's shoulders and pulls it off. Laying it carefully on top of his own, Lew turns and pulls Gene to him. 

There's just a hint of stubble on Lew's cheeks and while it should be odd, it kind of turns Gene on. He doesn't know what to think so he pulls Lew closer and deepens the kiss because that's something he can do without thinking. They stand in the darkened hallway, kissing, kissing, kissing for several long moments before Lew pulls back, breathing heavily. 

"Let's get a drink," he whispers, his fingers pressing against the small of Gene's back. "I need a breather before I decide to take you right here."

Gene blushes - no one's ever talked to him like that before. 

Lew leads him into the study, turning a lamp on just inside the door and flicking a switch that starts the fire going. Gene stands in the middle of the room, watching the fire crackle. He doesn't notice Lew filling two glasses with whiskey, and still doesn't notice until Lew nudges him with his elbow. 

"Sorry," he says, taking the glass Lew's holding out. 

They sit close together on the sofa in front of the fire, sipping at their drinks. 

"Why'd you kiss me earlier?" Lew asks softly. 

He's not ready for the question so he takes a drink of whiskey, hoping it'll give him the answer he's looking for. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't. 

"I ... I'm not sure."

An indecipherable look flashes across Lew's face and Gene knows he said the wrong thing. 

"I mean, watching you with those people - I don't know, you're so confident and charming and ... I guess I just... it made me want to. Kiss you." His cheeks feel like they’re on fire and he ducks his head. When he looks back up, Lew’s watching him. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to impress you since the moment I saw you and me charming a crowd is what finally does it?” He shakes his head, laughing softly. 

“Um,” he says, squirming uncomfortably for the first time since walking in the house, “I… I don’t know what I’m doing here, Lew. Like at all.”

Lew freezes. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

He wants to be honest, and the alcohol certainly helps. So does standing and putting a few feet between them because he’s finding it hard to think with the man so close. 

“I want to say no, but you do. But,” he hastens to explain, “it’s not a bad uncomfortable. It’s just – weird. I never saw myself in this position. Ever.”

“It’s because you’re Lew-sexual,” he says faintly, breaking out in a smile. 

It’s things like this – the comfortable way Lew speaks, like it’s not the craziest thing in the world right now – that makes Gene realize why he went for a kiss in the first place.

This man is one of a kind. 

He doesn’t stop to think, realizes he’s getting pretty good at it where Lewis Nixon is concerned, and moves to the sofa, hand coming up to cup Lew’s cheek before kissing him like he used to kiss his girlfriend. Fierce and deep and maybe a little mind-numbing. 

Turns out he’s good at surprising Lew as well, because it takes a second or two before Lew reacts to Gene’s sudden bout of kissing.

After a moment he tries to pull Gene onto his lap and now it’s Gene’s turn to freeze because it’s usually him pulling someone into his lap and he can’t get past the feeling that what he’s doing isn’t right.

“Gene,” Lew whispers, pressing against his lower back, “c’mere, please.”

It’s like he’s been struck dumb – he can’t move. He can still kiss it seems, which is just odd and he laughs. And maybe it’s because he’s laughing against Lew’s open mouth, but Lew joins in after a second.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” he asks, watching as Gene bends down, hands on his knees and laughing softly.

Pulling in more deep breaths than he knows he had in him, Gene stands. “I told you I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can’t even get into your lap.” He laughs again and runs a hand across his face. “Fuck, Lew.”

Looking bewildered, Lew grabs hold of Gene’s hands and pulls him in. “It’s ok, you know that right? What we’re doing, it’s … it’s ok.”

Slowly, slowly, Lew pulls him closer, gently tugging at his hips until Gene’s legs are on either side of his. 

“I hate to sound all, I dunno, but you like me, right?”

“I think we already went over this,” Gene says softly, rolling his eyes.

Lew smirks. “So just go with it, Gene.”


	6. Chapter 6

He meets Lewis Nixon in a bar one night. 

He’s been nursing a beer for the past fifteen minutes, trying not to glance over at the door. He’s not doing a great job of it. 

A red head comes in, snow on his coat and in his hair, and he’s laughing at the man who walks in behind him. 

Gene’s stomach shifts. 

A dark haired man is shaking snow off his jacket, a grin a mile wide on his face, and he looks up and catches eyes with Gene. His expression softens.

The past few weeks come back in snatches – the rumpled look Lew has in the morning, pillow creases on his face; how he’s always touching Gene, even if it’s just shoulders brushing; the afternoon’s he comes to see Gene at the building site, a packed lunch in his hand. 

Remembering that first night and those gentle touches brings a flush to Gene’s cheeks. 

_Lew pulls him down onto his lap, his warm hands sliding along Gene’s neck and he’s got this desperate look on his face as he tilts Gene’s head to the side and slots his mouth over his. They kiss deeply and Gene realizes how excited Lew is when he finally sits back._

_It’s unnerving, really, to feel that hardness against him. But when Lew presses against the small of his back, forcing Gene against his chest, he knows his own is rubbing against Lew’s stomach and God – it’s just so weird._

_And hot._

_He starts making these little noises in his throat as Lew lifts up with his hips and it makes him lightheaded._

_“Lift up,” Lew whispers against his lips, and Gene obeys, his limbs shaking as he holds himself up. Lew grabs hold of his hips again and presses him down, their dicks now rubbing together through their pants._

_“Jesus,” Gene says, his voice soft and breathy._

_Lew laughs. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” His hips move up as Gene pushes his down and he has to close his eyes. Because Christ, this is so strange but so good and he’s not sure what to do with himself.  
_

_Lew sits up abruptly, his arms going around Gene’s waist and he flips them so he’s on top and Gene’s pressed against the back of the sofa. An insane kind of laugh leaves Gene’s mouth and Lew kisses just under his jaw, pressing his hips into him over and over._

_“Is this better?” Lew whispers._

_Gene laughs. “I don’t know. Maybe?”_

_“Jesus Christ you are so indecisive,” Lew mutters, nipping at Gene’s ear. “Tell me how it feels. Talk to me.”_

_Lew is still rubbing against him, and Gene pulls in a deep breath, his mind racing. “It feels strange,” he whispers, pushing his hips up to meet Lew’s. “Strange and weird and … ridiculously good.”_

_Pulling at Gene’s legs so they’re wrapped around his hips, Lew growls low in his throat and thrusts harder. “And now?” he asks breathlessly._

_“Fuck, Lew.”_

_“Does ‘fuck’ mean yes?”_

_“What do you think?” Gene breathes, pulling Lew down to kiss him._

It’s kind of amazing to know that Lewis Nixon is all his. 

And when Lew steps up beside him and lays his hand on his back, leaning down to brush his lips against Gene’s ear, he’s incredibly thankful that he just went with it.


End file.
